


Whiskey Glasses

by Fangirlxwritesx67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29094471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlxwritesx67/pseuds/Fangirlxwritesx67
Summary: Song: Whiskey Glasses, Morgan WallenTags: drinking (so much drinking), angst, sadness, one-night stand (sex and oral sex)AN: I love this song, and it hit me a couple of weeks ago that it is a total Dean song. The first story I came up with didn’t do him justice though. This is another one where @thoughtslikeaminefield and @there-must-be-a-lock pushed me to strip it all the way down to bare bones and start over. @mskathywriteswords did her part too. Thanks, my friends.(set after 15x03)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	Whiskey Glasses

Amanda looked up the minute Dean Winchester walked through the door. Thunder rolled over his features and lightning sparked in his eyes as he let the door slam behind him. She would swear, she could feel the storm around him as soon as he walked in. Restless energy seemed to cloud the air in his wake, as his gaze sought hers from across the room.

“Howdy, stranger,” she called, waving him over. Her standard greeting usually drew a smirk, a wave, or even a playfully blown kiss; today he barely nodded before sinking onto a high bar chair. 

“Is it a beer night or a whiskey night?” Amanda tried again, hoping to get him to look up, to smile. But he just scrubbed one hand over his face and sighed. 

“Whiskey, double, and keep ‘em coming.” His voice had a ragged edge to it as he slapped down several twenties. He drank the first glass like a single shot, knocked the second one back like he didn’t even taste it.

Amanda paused before putting down the third drink in under an hour. All she said was, “Dean?" 

Finally, he met her gaze. His eyes were dark with misery, the lines and angles of his face drawn. For a moment, she thought he would confide in her. Then he shook his head morosely. He took the whiskey and gazed into its amber depths, searching for something, before he lifted it to his lips.

Her voice was gentle when she spoke again, pitched so only he could hear it. “Last time I saw you drink this hard, you told me your mother had died.”

Dean barked out a laugh, harsh and joyless, cutting her off before she could ask any questions.

“Yeah, and that was my fault too, just like this.” 

“I’m sure that’s not true-” but her words trailed off. The hard look on Dean’s face told her it wasn’t the time for empty reassurances. She couldn’t be sure, but in the light of the bar, she thought she saw tears in his eyes. 

She turned away, giving him a moment alone with his thoughts. While she served other customers, her mind wandered back to the night she had met Dean.

He showed up one slow weeknight at the run-down truck stop bar in dead-end, Kansas. He didn’t quite seem like a trucker, or a drifter, although he was comfortable enough with them. 

Something about him seemed a little too big for the room, and it wasn’t just his long legs and broad shoulders. Dean seemed to fill the room with his presence. There was something in the way he carried himself that said he was a fighter, a man keenly sure of his body and what he could do with it. 

That first night, Amanda had enjoyed flirting a little. It wasn’t often she got a customer who was so handsome, and charming to boot. She never expected to see him again, in fact, had almost forgotten about him, when he showed back up. 

Dean wasn’t quite a regular. Sometimes weeks could go by without her seeing him. But over the course of a couple of years, he had been there often enough. She felt comfortable with him, although she always wondered why he seemed so lonely.

Even after several drinks, he was hesitant to share anything personal. She still didn’t know much about him and why he came there to drink alone. He was easy to talk to, though, smart and funny. She thought he enjoyed her company as much as she enjoyed his.

Whoever Dean was, whatever he did, he left behind when he came to the bar. He usually stepped in with a little bit of swagger and unwound as he drank, singing softly under his breath to the songs on the radio. 

Amanda had wished, plenty of times, for more than talk. She daydreamed about getting to know him better. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Those strong arms, soft lips, and masterful command of his body told her he would probably be a good lover.

But her dreams of Dean were just that, dreams. He never let his guard down long enough for anyone to get close. Although she considered him a friend, he kept her at arm’s length.

Tonight was no different. He was desperate, obviously hurting. Still, he kept himself guarded, invisible armor firmly in place. 

Only once did Dean say anything, when the song that came on the radio was _Whiskey Glasses._

_Line 'em up  
Knock 'em back  
Fill 'em up_

“That’s me.” He raised his glass and nodded before downing the contents in one gulp.

“Is that it? Someone leave you?” Amanda purposely kept her tone light.

Dean’s smile came slowly, wryly. It crinkled his eyes at the corners but did nothing to lighten the darkness there. Then he heaved a sigh that seemed to come all the way from his soul.

“Nah, I just like whiskey.” He tried to turn it into a joke, but the look on his face was lost. “Another, please?”

It was Amanda’s turn to shake her head. “Dean, this is the last one. I can’t keep serving you like this and let you drive home.”

“S’okay. I parked out behind the truck stop. I can walk back, sleep in my car.” Dean’s words were blurred a little around the edges. He nursed that last drink until closing time. 

She felt his hooded gaze follow her around the bar as she completed her closing duties. She hated to see him so despondent and worried about him leaving alone. She wished there was something she could offer in the way of comfort. But all of their communication up until this point had been casual. Nothing about Dean invited her to try for more. 

“Last call, my friend,” she said reluctantly.

Dean stood up, slightly unsteady, and walked towards the door, Darkness and desperation trailed behind him like his own personal shadow. Amanda watched him go with a heaviness in her heart. 

She hoped he would be able to sleep it off and wake up feeling better tomorrow. Something told her it wouldn’t be that simple, but there wasn’t much she could do. The bar was closed and he was gone, to sleep it off in his car or wherever it was he went when he left. 

She locked the front door as she stepped outside. A small flare of red light caught her eye. Dean was leaning against the outside of the bar, almost hidden in the darkness, but not quite out of sight around the corner. He was smoking a cigarette, drawing on it hard. She hadn’t expected him to still be there, but since he had stuck around, she couldn’t just let him go. 

She sauntered across the gravel parking lot, trying to look more casual than she felt, and asked, “Got a light?”

Dean was slumped against the wall, shoulders bowed as if the brick was the only thing keeping him standing. He held out his lighter wordlessly, and his fingers brushed hers as she took it. 

“Actually, can I bum a smoke?” Amanda shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I don’t carry them anymore since I’ve been trying to quit.” 

Dean scoffed before turning to look her full in the face. “So do you really want a smoke, sweetheart?” 

“Not so much,” Amanda answered reluctantly. “Didn’t want to say goodbye just yet.” 

He looked at her for a long silent moment before speaking. “Whadya want, then? Why come to me?” 

“Dunno, man. Why are you still here?” 

He finished his cigarette with one hard draw before he nodded. He dropped the butt and ground it under his heel as he reached out with one hand. Her fingers laced in with his. 

“You-” was all he whispered, ragged and low.

For one long moment, they stood still, eyes taking the measure of one another. Dean tugged, ever so slightly. Amanda answered, stepping closer to him. 

She had to stand on tiptoes to reach his lips but she did it, slipping one arm around his neck to keep her balance and kissing him like she had always dreamed of doing. It was a risk worth taking, acting on her instincts, and trusting he wouldn’t let her fall.

Dean did not let her down. Their first kiss was plush and warm. Next thing Amanda knew, Dean had her pressed up against the wall, kissing her hungrily as his hands settled around her waist. 

She arched her body up against his warmth, tightening her grasp across his shoulders. He felt so good under her hands, so strong and solid. 

His name slipped from her lips softly. 

He wrenched away, leaving her feeling cold and bereft. 

“No.” He shook his head. “No, this can’t be good.” 

For all his size and presence, he looked so broken. She murmured, “Come home with me.”

Dean studied her closely. “You don’t know what you’re asking.” 

“I know you, Dean. Know you well enough to trust you. I don’t want you to sleep in your car - shit, don’t want you to be alone.” Amanda heard the pleading in her voice and didn’t care. 

She slipped her hands inside Dean’s jacket, around his waist to keep him close, and leaned into him to take a deep breath. The smell of his cigarette, the whiskey he had been drinking, and underneath it, a mixture of sweat and the outdoors filled her senses. 

Dean lifted her chin and lowered his face for another kiss, sloppy and open-mouthed before he finally nodded. 

“Okay, take me home.” There was a desperation in his voice that he tried to hide by standing tall, squaring his shoulders. 

Amanda cared for him too much, and his pain shot like an arrow straight to her heart. She held out her hand and led him to her car. The two of them spent the short drive in silence. Dean looked out the window as if searching for answers in the night sky. 

Neither of them spoke as they stepped into her living room. She locked the door behind her and flicked on a light. She was still questioning herself, wondering what exactly she was hoping for. She had hooked up plenty of times with random men from the bar. Dean was different. He was a friend, someone she trusted.

Dean winced at the brightness, but when he looked at her again his eyes were glazed, with no spark of interest, only fathomless loss. She saw then that he was drunk, really drunk. He had covered it up well enough in the bar, but she couldn’t ignore it now. 

She sighed. She should’ve known. He had been knocking back double whiskeys at the bar for hours, never ordering food and drinking water reluctantly. He could still carry on a conversation, still walk straight enough, hell, he had still flirted convincingly. But he was gone. 

She couldn’t take him to bed like this. It wasn’t right, and it certainly wasn’t what she had always dreamed of. She actually cared about him and thought he cared about her. She wanted their first time - hell if there was going to be any time - for them both to be present.

Dean wasn’t any of that, right now. He was lost, adrift, grasping for comfort. His hand closed around her wrist, without hurting her, but his grasp was heavy.

Amanda lifted her lips to his for a glancing kiss. “The couch is pretty comfy if you just want a place to sleep it off.” 

He pulled her in close, resting his forehead down on hers, and drew in a deep breath.  
“No that’s not- You- I’m- I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t sure what he was confessing, only that it was unexpected. But he was drunk, and also driven by whatever had pushed him to the bottom of a bottle of whiskey in the first place. 

“Dean, you don’t have to. It’s me, it’s okay. Let’s just go to sleep?”

Amanda led him upstairs to her bedroom. Comfort, that wasn’t much, but it was all she had to give. He stripped to his boxers while she slipped into soft shorts and a tank top. She made sure there was a bottle of water on the nightstand next to him before she slipped under the covers. 

Dean was already half asleep, breathing deeply, but he reached out for her when she settled down onto the bed. He tugged her towards him so they were spooning, the length of his body warm and firm against her back. 

“I don’t wanna feel a thing,” was the last thing Dean murmured as his eyes fluttered closed. 

Falling asleep drunk he was still consistent, Amanda thought, as she turned in his arms to look at him. Even at rest, his face looked worried, his body weary. 

Amanda had so many questions about the handsome enigma next to her: who was he, and how had he ended up in her bar? How had she come to care for someone, knowing so little about them? 

She traced lightly over his skin, touching his tattoos, his scars. For all of the years that she had wanted to see him naked, she had never pictured this. She had imagined a one night stand, maybe even a satisfying one. She had never thought that he would lay so much of himself bare in front of her. 

She had so many more questions, things she had never wondered, and might never get answered. But this was Dean, the man she knew and trusted. The questions could wait. Tonight, he needed care, and she needed to rest. 

She lowered her lips to the curve of his neck in one more goodnight kiss. She wanted him to know that he was seen, that he was safe. 

In his sleep, Dean frowned and tightened his grasp around her. 

This was nothing like her fantasies of bringing Dean home. Instead of passion, there was comfort. Instead of sex, there were cuddles. She was more worried about him than anything, wanting to make sure he was safe and cared for. 

She also wouldn’t complain about falling asleep in the arms of a handsome man, even if all they did was sleep. 

***

Amanda rolled over as she woke up, reaching for Dean. The other side of the bed was empty. 

Of course. She should’ve known when she turned down the chance to sleep with him. She had hoped he would be different, that he was her friend, that he would stick around. But of course not.

Her fingers closed on the pillow he had slept on and she pulled it close. She wondered where he was and if he was okay. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him – whiskey, smoke, and coffee. 

Coffee? There was no coffee last night. 

She raised her head and took another sniff. That was definitely coffee and bacon. She realized that she could hear sounds coming from the kitchen. She smiled. 

Dean’s discarded flannel was at the foot of the bed. She slipped it over her pajamas as she got up, enjoying its worn warmth against the chill of the morning.

She paused at the doorway to her kitchen. Dean was in front of the stove, his back to her, wearing nothing but jeans. He was drinking coffee, frying bacon, and mixing up some scrambled eggs. Hazy morning light filtered through the curtains, shining on his scars and his freckles and his tousled hair.

Amanda walked over and wrapped her arms around him, leaning her face against his broad back. He startled, then relaxed into her embrace. For a moment they stood still, just breathing together before Dean turned around.

He met her eyes reluctantly. For just one moment, he let her see his pain and regret. Then he looked away and forced a smile. 

“I hope this is okay, I just walked into your kitchen and made myself at home. There’s nothing like bacon and eggs for a hangover, right?” He shrugged uneasily.

“This is more than okay. I’m not used to getting breakfast when I bring a man home from the bar.”

Dean turned away, back to the stove. His next words were hesitant, almost mumbled. “No, but I bet you’re used to getting a whole lot better in bed.” 

“Listen to me.” Amanda took his chin in her hand and forced him to look at her. His gaze was heavy with shame. “I brought you home because I wanted to be sure you were safe. I was - am - worried about you. But you’re not here because I want something out of you. You’re my friend.”

Dean put the spatula down and faced her fully. He held out his arms and she answered his unspoken plea. He pulled her close and took a few deep breaths that she could almost have sworn were sobs. Finally, he brushed his lips against her temple. 

When the coffee maker beeped, Dean startled. Amanda watched him settle back into the version of himself she was used to seeing, confident and strong. But his face remained open, his eyes longing.

“Are you sure you don’t want something out of me?” He was joking, flirting to try to cover up his uncomfortable feelings. 

She smiled warmly. “Coffee and breakfast first, okay? Then we’ll talk.” 

Amanda sank into a seat at the table. Dean handed her a steaming mug of coffee, and she wrapped her hands around it gratefully. He came over to the table carrying two plates piled high with food, and set one down in front of her before sitting down with the other. 

For a few moments, both of them ate in companionable silence. After Dean got up to refill both of their coffee cups, he looked at her. She couldn’t interpret his words or his expression. 

Finally, he blurted out, “Thanks.”

“Thanks?” Amanda was caught off guard. 

“For being my friend.” Dean smiled, one of his real smiles that crinkled his eyes and lit his entire face, the ones she lived to see. “What, did you think I was coming to that bar for the atmosphere? Nah. It’s you.” 

Amanda took a deep breath. He was so clearly sincere. Somehow being a friend, sleeping together, the level of trust they had stumbled into without ever having sex, was way more fragile and intimate than the one night stand she had anticipated. 

“So if we’re friends, why don’t you tell me what last night was all about?” She just had to ask. “Before I brought you home. Or do I need to get out the whiskey?”

Dean looked down. A weight settled on his shoulders again, weariness on his face. He seemed to be waging some internal war with himself. Finally, he raised his eyes to meet hers, that look of desperation in his gaze.

“I’m not sure I can explain, and even if I could, you wouldn’t believe me.” 

“I’m a bartender. I’ve seen and heard just about everything,” Amanda answered. “Try me.”

“You haven’t heard nothin’ like this, sweetheart,” Dean replied. And then he began to talk. The story spilled from his lips in fragments at first, every word ragged and difficult.

Amanda could see that he was telling the truth, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. The story he told her was wild enough: being a private investigator of sorts, working with his brother and their partner, a boy who he raised like a son. 

And loss, so much loss. His mother, his son, and most recently, his working partner, all gone. She didn’t understand every detail but his pain was clear enough. 

Dean’s words raised more questions than they answered, but they explained a lot. Amanda could see how difficult it was for him to say even this much. When he finally trailed into silence, he looked at her. The expression on his face was raw, his eyes vulnerable.

“Okay.” She let out a deep breath, trying to find the words to say everything that was in her heart. Finally, she settled on just one thing. “Thank you. For telling me, for trusting me, for letting me be your friend.” 

She leaned across the table and he met her halfway. Last night’s kisses had been dark and desperate. This morning they were honest and hopeful, searching.

When Dean finally pulled away, he sighed. “It’s a shame I screwed up my chance last night because you’re one hell of a kisser.”

Amanda smiled, hunger stirring deep inside of her. His kisses had been everything she had dreamed, and still she wanted more. 

“I think you could have another chance,” she murmured, standing up and holding out her hand. 

He took it slowly, almost hesitantly. 

“You mean it?”

She nodded and watched understanding dawn in his eyes. 

She led Dean back to her bedroom. They kissed as they undressed, both of them giving and taking and trusting. There was no reason to cover up, not with Dean, not after everything. Still, it felt strange to be naked in the bright golden sunlight, and she reached for the sheet. 

Dean took her wrists in both hands, pinning them softly on the bed. “No,” he murmured, “Don’t hide. You’re beautiful. Let me see you.” 

His fingers caressed her curves, down her sides, and over her hips before settling around her waist. He tugged her up, rolling her hips open, before lowering his mouth to her.

She had fantasized about his lips, it was true, but at no point had she imagined this. She had never dreamed that he would be so good, that he would know exactly how to please her and push her. She reached up with one hand to grip her headboard, trying to anchor herself. The other hand slipped down into his hair, tugging the short strands. She moaned and panted and cried out his name as she came.

Dean looked up at her, his face framed by her thighs, his expression mingled delight and desire. He wasn’t just doing this for her. He was enjoying it, savoring it. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. 

He rose up over her, kissing her long and full. She was caged in by him, by tense forearms and thick thighs, all rock-solid muscle. She could’ve felt trapped but instead, she felt sheltered. She reached over his shoulders, hands skimming his back, nails trailing against his skin.

Dean moaned her name against her lips, shamelessly, before he finally lowered himself down. Every movement between them was weighted and close. When he slipped inside of her, slow and stretching, she let out a low sigh. She ground up against him, meeting his need with her own. 

A long moment hung suspended between them while they found their balance, and then Dean started to thrust his hips. Amanda tried to keep her focus on his face. His eyes were dark pools of lust and longing, only faintly rimmed in green. But she had been right all along - he knew exactly what he was doing with his body. 

Soon she forgot about trying to satisfy Dean, forgot about everything except the way he was holding her down and lifting her up at once. Her entire world shrank to his body on hers, heavy and hungry. Her fingers dug into his back, pulling him close, begging for more. 

Dean moved faster, panting and frantic as if to lose himself inside of her. She held his gaze as long as she could until everything was too much. Her thighs tightened and she clamped down around him and came again with a wordless cry. 

Amanda felt Dean gasp, and shudder, and finally let go. The sound he made as he collapsed on top of her was torn from somewhere deep inside. After a long, shaky moment, he rolled over onto his side, tugging her to face him. 

He leaned the side of his face against the softness of her breasts while they both caught their breath. When he finally looked up at her, she was blindsided by the tenderness in his gaze. It was an open expression that she had never seen before on his face. 

Every time Amanda had imagined sex with Dean, it had been hot but shadowy, a sort of hidden one-time thing. She had never pictured anything like this, open and trusting and bright. This was better than her wildest dreams. 

She lowered her mouth and kissed him, and he kissed her back, deep and full. 

“After that, I’m gonna need a drink,” she said. 

Dean shook his head, a bright, warm smile lighting his eyes and curving his lips. She laid her head back against his shoulder, and they laughed.


End file.
